Chapter Text
To be honest, Nino’s not looking forward to tomorrow.
It’s the night before – his chest hurts at the thought – the wedding, and he’s stuck.
Literally stuck outside his hotel room and currently watching smoke from his second cigarette waft into the night air, because Kim had conveniently forgotten to inform him that he’d be fooling around with one of the bridesmaids right after the wedding entourage had gotten drunk on the champagne from the engagement party. Nino had heard their voices (and other noises) before he’d even twisted the doorknob. Those two were loud.
(Nino knew who it was. Alix, surprise, surprise. All bets were on who’d tie the knot next among their high school classmates, and those two were somewhere at the bottom of the list with their on-again, off-again relationship.)
Figuratively stuck, because he’d been working on a new song for the wedding. It was meant to be a gift to the happy couple, but the pieces just weren’t coming together, and he was too tired to think of alternatives. There was a plan B he’d bought a few weeks ago, but the song was always meant to be the piece de resistance. If only he could scramble up the motivation to finish it, then he’d be set and the wedding would hopefully go off without a hitch.
(And then he could go home and mope around for a week. Or go to the club even though he told them he’d be taking two weeks off. He’s not lying to himself.)
He takes another drag from his cigarette. The burn hits his throat, and he lets the sensation roll around for a bit in his mouth before exhaling. The smoke drifts upwards, into the night.
Nino’s alone; there’s no one else hanging around in the area right outside the hotel lobby. He’s at a bench near the entrance, his laptop open with its blue glare hitting the periphery of his eyes as it sits on the space next to him. The file title reads ‘mix no. 9’.
A breeze blows through, and ruffles his hair before dying down. The smoke from his cigarette moves along with it.
He lets out a sigh.
If he were being really honest with himself, he’s considering bailing on tomorrow – except that he can’t. He’s the best man, and friends with both the bride and groom. He’s known them both from when they were stupid idiots who couldn’t admit that they loved each other. He watched the whole song and dance, the tender steps of trepidation, and with each move forward his heart broke a little more.
It was his choice to tell a lie. He stuck with it, and now he’s regretting it immensely, has been for the past 10 years.
It feels like all his luck’s run out. Which isn’t really surprising, considering that he’s best friends with bad luck in human form. The end of his cigarette burns bright orange and red, as tendrils of smoke waft into the air.